Sweet Revelations
by IceShadow
Summary: Farf/Schu. How the duo formed a relationship. General Squickyness. Yaoi.


(fixed the coding. Woohoo. Anyways. This was my first ever WK fic. Don't own them, blah blah blah)  
  
******  
  
Schuldich snorted, leaning back on the bed and flicking channels. He had been waiting an hour for Crawford to bring back the new recruit so they could get back to Japan. Traveling to Dublin and sitting around for three days was not his idea of fun.  
  
*click click click * "God Damn it." Schu thought, tossing the remote off the side of the bed and sitting up.  
  
Faintly he heard voices coming up the hallway. 'Bout damn time,' he hissed mentally to himself, sliding off the bed and crossing his arms over his chest, standing like a sentry in front of the door.  
  
He heard the key in the lock and the door swung open. Schuldich was faced with the American's back as he dragged something into the room, shoving it to the floor before slamming the door and cursing.  
  
Schuldich raised an eyebrow, lighting up a cigarette and looking down at the bundle. 'Hm, human.' Schu raised an eyebrow tilting his head at Crawford.  
  
"This is our new team mate," Crawford muttered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Schuldich, this is Farfarello."  
  
Schu regarded the man that now knelt before him, who tilted his head up slightly, looking the German in the face. One amber eye met Schu's jade pair; the German noticed a black patch covered the other eye. The kneeling man was pale, crowned with short-cropped silver hair. Schuldich examined Farfarello's face, scars ran like a demented road map along his visage, criss-crossing his cheek and practically bisecting his full lower lip.  
  
"What's so special about him," Schuldich motioned at Farfarello with his cigarette, flicking ash on the carpet.  
  
"He feels no pain," Crawford said from across the room. The American was throwing things inside of a suitcase and all but ignoring the other two men.  
  
"Why is he in a straightjacket?" Schu raised an eyebrow, looking over the heavy off-white straightjacket and the black industrial cloth bondage pants that bound Farfarello.  
  
"He's insane," Crawford, muttered, shoving a magnum into his shoulder holster before slamming his suitcase shut and turning to look at the German.  
  
"And you are responsible for him until we make it back to Japan. Get packed, I need to get a few things before we leave." Crawford disappeared out the door before Schu could get a word in edge wise.  
  
"Gott damn es," Schuldich spat in his native tongue striding over to the bedside table, snuffing out the cigarette angrily then turning to survey his company.  
  
Farfarello stayed stationary. Schu imagined it was difficult to move in that get-up and sighed, walking over to the restrained man.  
  
"If I take this shit off you, you promise not to bite me or anything right?" Schuldich raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I do know how to behave myself.despite what some people think," the voice had a soft Irish lilt to it. Schu found himself enjoying the sound of it. He shrugged and helped the Irishman to his feet, scanning his mind briefly.  
  
'This man will help me hurt God. God must weep for what he did. I'll make God hurt, I'll make God cry rivers of blood. Father of Lies, Sinner.. God must hurt."  
  
Schu raised an eyebrow before disconnecting his telepathy with the other mans. "Got a problem with God, hm Farf?"  
  
"Crawford promised me this job would help me hurt God." Farfarello said with complete conviction in his voice. Schu nodded, lighting up another cigarette and holding it in his mouth. He wrapped his arms around the Irishman and began unsnapping the buckles holding him bound.  
  
"Well, welcome to Schwartz. We are bodyguards, hit men, assassins in the making. Supposedly all the members have special powers. I'm a telepath, Crawford is a clairvoyant and obviously you can't feel pain. There's supposed to be one more but we haven't found that person yet." Schuldich finished unbuckling the restraints, holding his cigarette in the side of his mouth.  
  
After the straight jacket clattered to the floor, Schu took a few steps back to look the Irishman over. Farfarello stood stretching his thin, almost skeletal form. The lunatic was shorter then Schuldich by a few inches but was none the less imposing if only for the scars and feral look in his eye. The black bondage pants clung to the curves of his thin, but wiry muscled legs and his upper body was adorned with a dark gray wife beater. A heavy leather dog collar hung around the frail looking neck, a thick silver ring dangled from the center, Schu assumed this was to lead the Irishman around on a leash with.  
  
"Well, come sit down. How old are you anyways?" Schuldich flopped back onto the couch, mentally keeping track of Farfarello while he stared at the TV.  
  
The Irishman raised an eyebrow at the German's nonchalance then shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed. His amber eye shifted to the television then to the redheaded German. Schuldich was taller then him, with lavish red hair that fell below his shoulders and over his face. Piercing jade eyes and angular features made him pleasing to look at but gave him an almost devious appearance at the same time.  
  
"I'm 18," he continued to stare at the smoking redhead. Schuldich didn't answer for a long moment then turned with a smirk that was more evil than any demon's.  
  
"Youngin," he laughed quietly, taking a long drag off his cigarette.  
  
"How old are you?" Farfarello tilted his head, shifting on the bed slightly. He oddly felt very comfortable in the German's presence. More comfortable then he had ever felt around another for a long time.  
  
"20." Schuldich blew a smoke ring and turned completely to face the Irishman.  
  
*2 years later, Tokyo, Japan**  
  
"You do know we've seen this movie 13 times?" Schuldich muttered as he shoved the tape into the VCR.  
  
The apartment was empty, Crawford had business to attend to and Nagi was on a date. This, of course, meant Farfarello and Schu had the apartment to themselves.  
  
"Just put the movie in and shut up," Farfarello muttered from the kitchen, shoving a bag of popcorn into the microwave and hitting the button. "Microwaves hurt God."  
  
"How do you figure that?" Schuldich sprawled on the couch, glancing around the side to look at the Irishman.  
  
"Because, they just do," Farfarello said, smirking at the redhead while he watched the bag expand. "And we only watched Silence of the Lambs 12 times, not 13."  
  
"Same difference," Schu yawned, stretching his long legs out, taking over the couch.  
  
Farfarello pulled open the microwave door, tossing the bloated bag on the counter. He clattered a black plastic bowl beside the bag then dumped the fluffy contents into the container, disposing of the bag and padded towards the living room.  
  
"Move over, Schu," Farfarello barked, putting the bowl on the coffee table and glaring at the redhead.  
  
"Hey, hey, I got here first," the German just stretched, taking up more room and grinning like a Cheshire cat.  
  
The Irishman glared at him for a moment, then shrugged seating himself on the German's stomach.  
  
"Mmph. Steigen Sie aus!!" Schuldich snapped, shoving at Farfarello's hips. The Irishman didn't budge, picking up the bowl and munching on some of the contents. Schuldich scowled and the Irishman threw popcorn at him, the kernel bounced off the redhead's nose and onto the couch.  
  
"Hey, you insisted on not moving." Farfarello made himself comfortable and Schu relented, muttering and turning to watch the movie.  
  
The two assassins made it through about 10 minutes of the show before a popcorn fight ensued and they both ended up sprawled on the couch together out of breath. Popcorn strewn all over the living room and the bowl overturned on the floor in front of the door. Farfarello huffed into Schuldich's ear, settling himself in a less contorted position on the German and went back to watching the movie.  
  
Crawford shoved the door open, his foul mood almost tangible. He promptly tripped over the plastic bowl drawing his attention to the disaster area in the living room. Taking the glasses off his nose he pinched the bridge trying desperately to ease his pounding headache.  
  
"Schuldich!!!" the scream jarred the sleeping German, who jerked up from his sleeping position on the couch. The action in turn knocked the dazed Irishman to the floor with a more then audible thud.  
  
"What?! What happened?!" the German looked around as Farfarello stood up abruptly, sweeping the room with one slit amber eye.  
  
"What the HELL happened in here?!" Brad practically screamed, slamming his briefcase on the kitchen table and turning to glare at the pair. "In fact, Screw it, I don't care. Get Farfarello back in his cell, with the jacket on and you clean up this mess. NOW."  
  
Schuldich stopped to protest but the Irishman just tugged on his arm, pulling him towards the hallway. The German let it go and followed Farfarello down the hall in silence.  
  
"Just do as he says, what's the point?" Farfarello muttered as they moved to the last room on the left.  
  
Schuldich shoved the door open and walked into the padded room. One lone window let in filtered light, glinting off the steel bars that covered the opening. A cot with restraints hung off the left hand wall and the straightjacket set in the middle of the room. Farfarello picked it up and slid his arms in, muttering something about God. Schu did the buckles, strapping them all tight, confining the other man within heavy cloth arms. After the Irishman lay down he restrained him to the bed and looked down sighing.  
  
"It's unfair, Farf." Schu sighed, removing the eye patch. The scarring wasn't as bad as one would think. Scar tissue surrounded the empty socket, pushing it halfway closed but still revealing the hollow space where another amber eye should be. Schuldich set the patch down beside the bed.  
  
"Better then him using the sedatives, I suppose." Farfarello muttered then gave Schu a smirk. "The whole ordeal was almost worth it though."  
  
"You would say something like that," the German smiled back " I'll let you out of your cage in the morning."  
  
"Night, SchuSchu." Farfarello yawned.  
  
"Night Farfie."  
  
The door clicked shut and the German slid the multiple locks into place. He trudged off to clean up the mess before he let the sandman claim him as well.  
  
******  
  
The sun shone through the side of the blinds right into the German's green eyes. Throwing an arm reflexively over his face, one eye peeked out to look at the digital clock. The blood red letters blurred together for a moment then cleared.  
  
Grunting, Schuldich sat up, scratching his thin stomach and tugging up his pajama pants, which had slid low on his hips during the night. 'Time to wake up Farfie' he mumbled sleepily in his head. He let his power branch out searching for consciousness quickly grabbing up his friends thought pattern, which were angrily cursing at God and the restraints around his ankles.  
  
Schu stood up completely, stretching his long, thin body out and padding out into the hallway towards Farfarello's door. Crawford's door was open and the room was empty, Nagi's door was closed. The telekinetic was probably still asleep it was only 9 o'clock after all. Schuldich sleepily undid the bolts and walked into the cell, glancing at the madman. Farfarello had made it out of the straight jacket and was working on the restraints, he had a knife in his right hand and there was blood running from his face along his pale neck. He turned to look at Schu when he entered the room, running his tongue over the flat surface of the butterfly knife, licking his own blood from the shining blade.  
  
"Morning SchuSchu," Farfarello said, sitting up and waiting for Schuldich to come over and undo the restraints for him. The German wandered over, his eyes still half lidded and undid the heavy leather straps around Farfarello's ankles. Flexing his legs, Farfarello shifted, letting the blood flow through his taught muscles. Schuldich pulled the straight jacket off of him, tossing it to the floor and yanked the knife by force out of the Irishman's hand letting it slap onto the padded floor of the room. Muttering something in German he shoved Farfarello back down onto the bed and flopped down beside him, draping his lanky body on top of the madman's.  
  
"Go back to sleep and stop bleeding on me," Schuldich muttered, burying his face into Farfarello's neck.  
  
Farfarello yawned, wrapping one leg around Schuldich's waist and twining his fingers with one of the German's hands. The redhead had become a sort of security blanket ever since the first time they had met. Schuldich had been in charge of taking care of Farfarello and in turn became the closest thing to a friend the madman ever had. He found himself extremely ill at ease without Schuldich around and was normally completely unresponsive to anyone else.  
  
He sighed tilting his head so his face burrowed into Schu's silky hair. The smell, the touch, the presence was really the only thing familiar.besides hurting God; Schuldich was the only constant thing in his life.  
  
Farfarello thought for along moment, for once his thinking off the subject of God completely and focused souly on Schuldich. The German brought odd feelings to the Irishman.Love?  
  
The madman snorted and let himself be warmed by the familiar presence. Lulled back into slumber by the rhythmic breathing of his only friend.  
  
******  
  
Blinking, Farfarello yawned only to breath in hair. He coughed reflexively and spit the strands out. His convulsing stomach stirred the sleeping man on top of him; jade eyes fluttered open and meet his single amber iris.  
  
"Mornin again Schu," Farfarello's voice was soft, almost caressing.  
  
Schuldich sat up, raking his hands through his hair and pulling his hand back when his fingers came back wet. "Drooling in your sleep, Farfie?"  
  
"If your hair wasn't so long I wouldn't have been chewing on it." Farfarello muttered, stretching and wrapping his arms around Schu almost as second nature.  
  
The German sat up slightly and yawned, his jaw cracking in the silence of the room. His chin rested on Farfarello's chest and his eyes lulled slightly as if he would fall back asleep at any moment. The madman couldn't resist bringing his hands up and stroking that long silken hair; he disguised the motion in straightening the fiery strands only using the excuse to touch it. They were both startled by the heavy steel door slamming into the wall. Schuldich immediately felt the presence of Crawford and dreaded turning to look at him.  
  
"Schuldich, what the fuck did I tell you about associating with him. I swear, you are going to get yourself killed.How the fuck did he get a knife!!!!?" Brad's voice had hit new decibels of loudness, cracking through the German's sleepy mind. He cringed and stood up, his hand sticking to Farfarello's skin from the dried blood that had run off of the cuts on his forehead and arm.  
  
"What happened?" Crawford stormed into the room and scooped the knife up. His brown eyes slid over Farfarello, examining the dried blood that covered a good deal of the left side of his body. "Cutting yourself again..."  
  
Crawford sighed angrily and turned his stony glare to Schuldich. "Get him in the bath and clean him. Don't let him near any razors and if I find him with a knife again, Nagi will be taking care of him. Obviously you have no sense on your shoulders." Brad spat the words out, turning and leaving the room.  
  
"Do I look incompetent?" Farfarello sighed, standing and looking at Schuldich who was still in shock from the rant Brad had just screamed at him.  
  
"Um.guess it's bath time," the German muttered, motioning for Farfarello to follow him.  
  
The madman followed the German into the redhead's room. Schuldich was sorting through Farfarello's side of the closet then stood back.  
  
"You are capable of picking out your cloths. I give you a bit more credit then Crawford." Schu smirked and stepped back. Farfarello yanked out two articles of clothing that looked like they matched and wandered into the bathroom, the German in tow.  
  
Schuldich opened the window and lit up a cigarette, seating himself on the toilet so the smoke drifted in wispy tendrils outside. Farfarello muttered angrily, dropping his clothes on the floor and twisting the faucets viciously. He untied his pants and glared at Schuldich who wasn't paying any attention to him, he was used to doing this daily because Crawford didn't trust Farfarello to do anything on his own.  
  
"Damn it, this is demeaning," the Irishman hissed, shoving off his black cotton pajama pants and kicking his boxers off to the side. Schuldich turned to regard him and smirked, blowing smoke out of his nose.  
  
"At least it's me and not Crawford," Farfarello got into the bath and sat down drawing his knees up, watching the water slowly fill the bathtub.  
  
Schuldich couldn't help but admire the lean lines and perfect curves of the Irishman's body. The German viewed Farfarello as a fine piece of artwork, each scar that ran along the pale skin a line that made him individual and unique. Where as someone else might see it as a defect, Schuldich found profound beauty in each mark. The pale skin was like fine China it almost screamed to be touched, caressed gently and held like a precious possession.  
  
Schuldich sighed, turning to look at Farfarello who was stretched in the water, soaking in the steaming heat of the bath. Schu flipped the cigarette out the window and kneeled down beside the bathtub resting against the side. The Irishman opened his one eye to regard Schuldich and sighed.  
  
"I wish I didn't have to monitor you all the time. I feel bad about never being able to give you privacy" Schuldich sighed again, deeper this time. Farfarello tilted his head, looking at those chips of jade that bore into his own amber orb.  
  
Farfarello leaned forward, his face mere inches away from Schuldichs angular visage and sighed barely audible almost as if he was breathing out a secret he really didn't want the German to hear. "Would it be a crime if I told you I really didn't mind."  
  
The Irishman sat back startled by his own outpour of emotion, leaving Schuldich to think over the words. The German seemed to be letting them roll in his head, thinking deeply on each and every syllable. He raised his hand and motioned for Farfarello to come closer with a single finger.  
  
Farfarello leaned forward, eyeing Schu warily with his one cat-like eye. Their faces were a breath apart, jade met amber and soft flesh met gently. The kiss was nothing but a chaste brush of lips but it had more meaning then any words that could have been spoken. The Irishman pulled back, running his tongue along his small but full lips, watching Schuldich mirror the action.  
  
The German grinned and turned grabbing the washcloth and dipping it in the water. "I think Crawford mentioned something about a mission today. You should get cleaned up, you have blood all over you."  
  
Farfarello was frozen in place, not able to will himself to move to hurt or help the German who was working soap into the ivory washcloth. Soon, said cloth brushed up against the side of his face, with extra care caressing his cheek bone and beneath his ear, descending to his neck. Schuldich usually let the Irishman handle his baths on his own, only there as a silent witness perched on the toilet seat and giving himself cancer.  
  
This was new.  
  
The Irishman did nothing but watch as the water turned a diluted pink from the blood that was washing off his body. Each caress of the washcloth forced Farfarello to hold back a shiver of pleasure. Human touch was never something he enjoyed, but when it was Schuldich, somehow it was different. The touch was less harsh like everyone else, always gentle and caring. Farfarello sighed, the cloth scrubbing the hard muscles of his stomach.  
  
Suddenly a firm hand grasped Schuldich's wrist and with a splash, the German found himself sprawled in the bath tub. His hand propped his body up off of Farfarellos as their bare chests pressed together. The German felt his pajama bottoms soak completely with water as he knelt and stared at the Irishman in mute surprise.  
  
"That was just evil," Schuldich muttered and smacked Farfarello in the side of the face with the washcloth. It made a dull thwap and the Irishman just laughed, shifting his leg. The German shot into the madman's arms when a wash of cold water rushed over his back.  
  
Farfarello smirked smugly, turning the water back off with his foot and holding the shivering German in his arms, their bodies pressed fully against each other. They stared at each other for a moment then shared the taste of each other. Their lips met gently again as if they thought the other would break under enough pressure.  
  
"Brad is going to crucifix us," Schuldich muttered and settled into the cradle of Farfarello's arms. Pale hands stroked down the length of Schu's broad shoulders and thin back, tracing each vertebrae with silken fingers.  
  
"Doesn't sound like that bad of a prospect," Farfarello yawned, content in this new found contact. The warm water was like a blanket and the Irishman's hands were massaging the German right back into sleep. "Farf?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Never mind."  
  
Farfarello let his lips brush against the silken red hair and sighed. He felt a whole new emotion revolve around his friend now. It wasn't merely friendship but something far deeper.but was he man enough to admit it yet? No.not yet.  
  
******  
  
After sneaking out of the bathroom and drenching the hallway floor, Schuldich tossed his soaked pants in the corner of his room.  
  
'What the hell is going on here?' he thought to himself, tugging on a pair of white dress pants, snapping the clasp before scrounging around for his green shirt. 'I'm fucking falling for my best friend.tell me that isn't a soap opera in the making.'  
  
The German tugged on the tight iridescent green shirt and tossed his long white jacket over his shoulder, giving his hair a shake for good measure. The green head wrap made his eyes stand out and his hair look even more luxurious, he grinned at himself in the hallway mirror and went into the living room.  
  
Farfarello sat on the couch looking annoyed, he was fidgeting with the white sleeveless dress jacket, the gold buttons lined in a double row down the front leaving most of his chest visible in a tantalizing V. His white slacks where only broken by the heavy leather restraints below his knees and the stretch of leather that bound them together. The device made it capable to restrain his legs with a straightjacket and keep hold of him if you didn't want him running off. The bondage strap matched nicely with the dog collar Crawford always put on him as a reminder of who mastered whom.  
  
Schuldich flopped down beside the irritated madman and smiled, fixing the buttons on Farfarello's jacket. 'Don't worry about it, obviously we are doing body guard business tonight' he whispered into the Irishman's mind, soothing the irate feelings that were pounding around in the madman's skull.  
  
He glanced around the room, they were all dressed in white. Purity. Schwartz meant black in German, maybe it was some inside joke between Taketori and Brad. He didn't know or care, he just worked for the man he didn't get paid to like him. In fact Schuldich hated the man, always expecting him to bow like some loyal dog and except a pat on the head for being a "good boy". Schuldich bowed to no one, not Crawford, not his Parents, not any of his Johns and certainly not to Taketori.  
  
Farfarello watched Schu scowl at nothing for a long moment. Blinking that amber eye he slid his gaze to Crawford and Nagi. They were talking quietly to each other. Nagi nodded and Brad turned.  
  
"Tonight's mission is to protect our employer during a business deal. Nothing seems to be in store for us, it should be a simple in-out job. Let's go." Brad turned and followed Nagi out the door.  
  
Schuldich stood and stalked out behind them, still scowling at unknown demons. The Irishman followed slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
******  
  
Choking.  
  
He was choking, gagging on blood and something was constricting his air passage.  
  
What the hell had gone wrong?  
  
Nice and quiet watching over Taketori's little business deal and now he was choking.  
  
Distantly he heard the Xena like war cry Farfie let out every time he charged into battle. Then he hit the ground, gasping for air and clawing at his throat. His mind was muddled from the lack of oxygen and all he could hear was the sound of a gun and the pounding of foot falls running away.  
  
"Mission complete!" echoed in his mind, not a voice from Schwartz he noted absently. He felt gentle hands touch his hair, stroking the red strands.  
  
"Schu?" he felt something wet dripping on the bare skin of his hand. Farfarello.  
  
"Schuldich are you okay?" the voice was tender, far more gentle and concerned then anyone would ever think Farfarello could be.  
  
He opened his eyes, blood shot and dripping involuntary tears from the struggle, still gasping for breath, he looked up at the voice. Farfarello stood over him, covered in blood, dripping on his hand. A large crimson drop fell on Schu's nose, running down his cheek like a tear.  
  
Farfarello helped the German up, holding his weight for a moment. Crawford came running over, looking concerned.  
  
"What happened?" he looked at Schu who was massaging his neck and still trying to get his breath.  
  
"I don't know I suddenly just couldn't breath." Schuldich said sharply, his voice raspy. He could taste the blood welling from his strained throat. " Why didn't you see this, Crawford? I mean you are the damned prophet here."  
  
Brad scowled, raking his fingers through his short black hair. "It happened too fast, you know I can't see that far into the future. What about you Herr Mind reader why didn't you see this coming?"  
  
They both glared at each other for a moment.  
  
"The business man was shot, the deal was ruined. Taketori is angry as hell," Brad muttered, breaking the stare and stalking away.  
  
Farfarello looked at him again, eyeing him with that amber iris. Yes, there was concern in those frozen, pale features. Concern for Schuldich. The gentle hand slid from his waist and they began to walk after Crawford.  
  
******  
  
"Oh fuck." Schu groaned, something had cracked that time.  
  
Farfarello tensed, his shoulder muscles bunching together. Hate and fanaticism poured from the single amber eye like brandy into a crystal sifter. The silver flicker of the golf club came cracking down on Schuldich's back again. The crack made the Irishman stiffen more, the anger building up and close to spilling over.  
  
Brad grasped his arm tightly. "No."  
  
"Then you make him stop or I will, Crawford," the hiss was deadly, you could almost feel the anger in the madman's voice, like the seething touch of a branding iron.  
  
The gold eye slit even more as another crack rang through the small office along with Schuldich's choked off whimper. Those pale, gloved hands grabbed a throwing knife from his thigh holster as he glared at Crawford, the insanity present behind that eye, pounding against the glassy surface and so close to breaking it.  
  
"Mr. Taketori, sir. Please, it wasn't all Schuldich's fault. I need my men in top condition," Brad spoke rapidly as he grabbed the club before another downswing, looking at his employer to Farfarello with flickering brown eyes. Taketori regarded him and let his arm go limp. Crawford let go immediately and took a few steps back out of respect.  
  
One last swing of the golf club followed by a sickening crunch and the loudest cry yet from Schuldich and Taketori walked away from the redhead.  
  
"Get out of my sight," he growled in Japanese, his native tongue.  
  
Farfarello went to Schuldich immediately and picked the German up. Schu winced. The Irishman began calculating wounds, broken ribs, broken shoulder, bruised face, injured back, fractured hip...rage began to over boil again. But he had his German in his arms, safe. His German?  
  
Now where did that come from..  
  
He spared Taketori one long hateful glance, the gold cutting through the other man like a knife through butter. Their employer shuddered but regained his stone like composure seconds afterwards. Farfarello turned and walked out, caring Schuldich carefully, minding the many breaks in his friend's body.  
  
******  
  
The Irishman paced around the living room for the four thousandth time that night. Nagi watched Farfarello, getting dizzy from the constant motion.  
  
A doctor Crawford knew personally and could get to make house calls was taking care of Schuldich in his bedroom. She had been working on him for over an hour now and the madman had been restless ever since he had been forcibly pulled out of the room.  
  
"He's going to be fine, Farf," Nagi said as the Irishman rounded the couch and passed in front of him.  
  
"Next time I see that man I'm going to rip his head off and piss down the stump," that yellow eye trained on Nagi for a moment, full of hate and rage.  
  
Nagi sipped his coffee, his raised eyebrows hidden by his dark bangs. He knew Schu and Farfarello were close but he really didn't know how close until now. He'd never seen the madman this angry about something. As long as he was hurting God and spilling blood he was usually happy.  
  
Crawford had retreated to his study after he had forced Farfarello out of the room so the doctor could work. He sat at his desk, glasses on the ink blotter, rubbing his brown eyes wearily. A cup of coffee sat, untouched, beside him the steam drifting slowly up to the ceiling.  
  
Brad had been red lining again. Often. He needed to relax and this whole injury thing could work to all their advantage. Schuldich being out of action would give him more then enough reason to take a break until the redhead was at least able to walk again. A strong team was an effective team.  
  
A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He grabbed his glasses, sliding them on and looked up at the sound.  
  
"I am finished. He should be fine if he doesn't strain himself. He should stay in bed for at least two days and then he needs to be moved around regularly to regain mobility. Right now he is resting," the short Japanese doctor walked into the room and set a piece of yellow paper on the desk. "This is the prescription for Morphine and Valium. He will be needing them both for the pain."  
  
"Thank you Doctor Yokosho, I will walk you to the door," Brad stood and walked to the door beside the doctor, letting him enter the hallway in front of him.  
  
Farfarello had stopped pacing and was staring at him as soon as he stepped out of the office. That haunting yellow eye was slit slightly, the anger still present behind the burning gold. Another emotion hovered there, on the barriers of the glare there was concern.  
  
"You can go see him now, Farfarello," Crawford stated as he walked passed the madman leading the balding doctor to the front door.  
  
******  
  
He opened the door quietly, stepping into the dark silence of Schu's room. Letting the door click close he walked over to the bed. His eyes softened at the sight of his friend.  
  
Schuldich was propped on his side, bandages wound around his thin body like a mummy. A deep purple bruise covered the left side of his face, Farfarello remembered that particular blow, it had brought the German to his knees in pain. An amber iris trailed down Schuldich's torso where his collarbone and ribs were tightly bound with heavy hospital gauze. The rise and fall of the sleeping German's breathing was constricted and pained, shivering with every indrawn breath. His eye drifted further down. Schu was nude, his hip bound with more gauze, giving him a breath of modesty. Obviously the blanket was even too much weight to put on the German's broken body, because it was pulled down to around his ankles.  
  
Farfarello knelt beside the bed his hand crawled across the mattress gently tangling with Schuldichs. The German's hand convulsed in his sleep, gripping tighter as if it would make the pain go away.  
  
"I am so sorry, look what I let them do to you.." Farfarello's voice was nothing but a sad whisper, his eye soft, his face contorted in sympathy.  
  
Farfarello kneeled like that, staring at the German in silence as if begging for penance for his sins. The red mane of Schuldich's hair was slick with sweat, sticking to his battered face, falling into his mouth and across his nose. Farfarello stood, withdrawing his hand slowly and almost going straight back to his position when the German searched for his grip in his sleep. The Irishman rummaged around on the dresser until he found a rubber band and went back to Schuldich. Farfarello gently began gathering the silken red tresses away from the bruised but still beautiful face and bound them in a ponytail.  
  
Immediately kneeling back down to take his place on the floor again, he took Schu's hand.  
  
Those poison green eyes flickered open, glazed through a haze of pain. "Farfie?"  
  
The croaked whisper of his name jarred Farfarello slightly, he looked up at Schu's face. Those eyes seemed like chips of emeralds in a desecrated ivory statue. They stared at him for a long time, lulling from the drugs.  
  
Farfarello leaned over the distance and gently kissed those parched lips. Two gentle meetings of flesh and he kneeled back down. This kisses were pure comfort to the destroyed being beneath the bandages; there was nothing even remotely sexual in them. To Schuldich it felt like he was home.  
  
******  
  
Farfarello blinked, his eyes hazy and his muscles stiff. He shifted, still kneeling at the side of Schuldich's bed, his friend's hand still clasped tightly in his own. The clock in the corner read 7:00 in the evening. It couldn't have been the same day, how long had they been sleeping?  
  
He leaned back on his heels, blinking and flexing his muscles to get the blood flowing again. His hand slid out of Schuldich's and he raked his fingers through his hair with a yawn. The redhead was breathing softly, his body still in the same position as the night before.  
  
Farfarello sat there staring at him. He looked so damn fragile lying there wrapped in those off white bandages and the almost black bruises that covered his face and peeked out from the gauze. His features were uncovered by his hair, making him all sharp lines, his cheekbones looking as if they could cut glass.  
  
Those green eyes flickered open, slitting slightly, sleepily and then opening entirely to view the room. They rested on Farfarello. Schu smiled slightly, his breathing still labored and painful.  
  
"Crawford let you stay in here?" his voice was a rasped whisper, still sore from last nights attack.  
  
"Mmhm," the Irishman nodded scooting closer to the bed and leaning his head against it. After a moment he felt Schuldichs hand running through his short hair, so soft it was barely there, like the brush of the wind.  
  
"I'm sorry, Schu," Farfarello sighed, letting his eye drift up to look at the German.  
  
"For?" Schuldich raised an eyebrow, letting his fingers linger in the whitish gray hair for a moment longer before laying his hand on the side of the bed, his shoulder throbbing from the little action.  
  
"I let him do this to you.I should have gut the fucker as soon as he picked the club up," the low Irish lilt turned into a sadistic growl as he ended the sentence, his eye burning yellow, bright with hatred.  
  
"His day will come, Farfie. Don't you worry," Schu smiled, "Now help me up, I can't stand laying around in bed. And hand me those."  
  
Schuldich motioned at a pair of oversized flannel pajama bottoms that were crumbled near his dresser. Farfarello gave him a disapproving look but grabbed the pants anyways.  
  
"Schu you really should lay down.the doctor said so," Farfarello sighed, he didn't know how Schuldich felt because he himself couldn't feel pain. But every movement looked like it was agonizing as the German shifted slightly. God was surely weeping and for once the madman didn't really give a damn.  
  
Farfarello went to the German's side and offered his arms as a support. Schu grabbed onto them, grunting as he sat up, his hand gripping Farfarello's arm so hard a bruise was forming and the Irishman could feel the heavy pressure blocking the blood flow. Farfarello gently pried Schu's fingers off and wrapped his arms around the higher part of his stomach, just beneath his damaged ribs and pulled him to his feet, holding on as the German staggered slightly and leaned his full weight on the Irishman. Schuldich turned and slung his arms around Farfarello's neck, laying his head on the madman's shoulder and just standing there, letting Farfarello hold him still.  
  
"Still want to walk around?" Farfarello tilted his head up, giving Schuldich an exasperated look. Schu nodded sharply and pointed at his pajama pants that were lying on the bed.  
  
Farfarello sighed and grabbed them, kneeling down to hold them so Schu could put his legs into them. After that painful activity the Irishman stood, bringing the pants up with him and letting them ride low on Schuldich's hip to avoid the fracture high on the left side.  
  
"Just help me here, I at least want to be on the couch. We can watch a movie or something," Schuldich smiled weakly, leaning most of his meager weight on the white haired madman. Farfarello was more then happy to take the weight off that painfully thin body.  
  
******  
  
Crawford sighed and looked up from his paper. Farfarello had helped Schuldich hobble down the hallway and lie down on the couch. The German looked pretty worse for wear but seemed to be grateful to be deposited on the couch.  
  
The American watched Farfarello, the madman seemed sane when he was around Schu, or at least more concentrated on the German then hurting God or spilling blood. Then again he only really saw Farfarello in battle, which he was at his most insane and with Schu when he was his calmest, there was really no middle Farf. But Crawford had thanked his lucky stars the Irishman had taken such a liking to Schu or he would have ended up taking care of the madman or handing him over to 15 year old Nagi.  
  
Schuldich himself was a head case, his mind so muddled with all the other minds around him that he didn't know where he ended and someone else began. He saw the decline in the German, who had been a prostitute and a heroin junky. The track marks still shown on the redhead's pale skin like beacons. The marks are everywhere, the mind numbing drug droned out the voices, giving him that blessed silence even if it landed him in some institution locked up with his mind and a million others wailing for release.  
  
And that's where he found the redhead, clawing at the walls in a rehab center, his body so thin you could almost see through him. The tiny frame shivered like a leaf, those bright poison green eyes hysterical and flitting, begging for a hit, silence and death just with that one look.  
  
The second he had gotten the fucked up German in the car he offered to blow Brad for one shot. His voice shaking as hard as his skeletal hands, begging with those eyes that held such hopelessness.  
  
Crawford would never forget the look on that 16 year olds face. He was haunted by that look ever since Schu had become part of Schwartz. At 21 Bradley Crawford was expected to take care of a sixteen year old telepath going through withdrawal. But he did, and now Schu was a cynical bastard with a fake smile pasted on his face. But Schu was also clean and hadn't touched a single person in a sexual manner since. As far as Bradley knew of course.  
  
And now he was watching that cynical bastard become softer, the jagged edges of his frozen heart melt around the edges for a knife-wielding psychopath.  
  
Crawford sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose and returning to his paper. It was odd how things turned out sometimes.just plain odd.  
  
******  
  
Farfarello walked past Crawford and grabbed a glass out of the cupboard. His eyes skirted along the knives as he waited for the water to turn cold. Giving into his desire he picked one up and sucked on the tip while filling the glass up with the cold liquid.  
  
He set the glass down on the counter to turn the water off, still savoring the taste of the blade. Glancing over the American's shoulder to confirm he was reading the stock market outcomes, he walked back into the living room and gave the glass to Schu. Farfarello sat on the coffee table Indian style, running his tongue contently over the cool steel of the knife.  
  
Schuldich smirked and drank the water slowly. The ice-cold liquid felt good against his damaged throat, easing the stinging burn.  
  
"Want me to give you your morphine?" Farfarello asked, his head tilted slightly as he paused in his knife licking to inquire.  
  
Schu took another sip of water, his eyes staring at the Irishman over the glass. He trusted Farfarello to stick a needle in him. He offered his arm, still nursing the glass. The madman got up, abandoning his knife on the oak coffee table and walked off into the kitchen again. He rummaged through the drawers and then grabbed a syringe and Schu's medicine, walking back into the living room while filling the needle.  
  
The silver haired Irishman took the restraint from around his neck and wrapped it around Schu's arm, tightening it. Schuldich watched, already homing in on a vein, Farfarello stared at the track marks, looking for an empty place to stab the needle in. He determined this impossible after a few moments and removed the belt.  
  
"I don't want to miss, Schu. Let me see your back," Farfarello motioned with the needle for the German to turn around. Schuldich set the glass down and did as he was told; Farfarello pulled the flannel pants down a bit more and then jammed the needle home. Schuldich shuddered as the morphine slid into his aching body and he felt the kiss of the needle withdraw and Farfarello wipe his hand across the wet spot on his back, replacing the cloth back over it.  
  
The German let himself sink back onto the couch, slouching slightly an obvious look of pain on his face. Farfarello slid onto the couch as well, propping his feet on the coffee table and putting a pillow in his lap. He coaxed Schu to lie down on his side, most of his upper body draped in the Irishman's lap.  
  
Those scarred fingers stroked through Schu's hair at a leisurely pace, separating each fiery strand between his fingers. He glanced at the knife on the table for only a moment, finding that he preferred Schuldich's hair to the sharp steel at the moment.  
  
Schu's breathing slowed and he became a dead weight on Farfarello's legs. Soon the Irishman found himself drifting off to sleep again, the heavy breathing and heart beat of the German shivering up his legs and to his own heart.  
  
******  
  
Green eyes opened and a yellow one stared back, blinking once. Schuldich sighed, his body finally repairing itself with two weeks of rest, all but his hip and his back had been completely healed. The doctor had told him he would probably always have pain due to the place of fracture and a few disks in his back had been damaged irreparably.  
  
Farfarello examined Schuldich who was curled in his arms, his green eyes lulling slightly. The bruise on the German's face had disappeared two days ago, leaving his pale white skin in its wake.  
  
"Morning sunshine," Farfarello murmured, blinking his amber eye and shifting against the Germans legs, which were twined with both of his.  
  
Schuldich snorted and wrapped his legs tighter around the madman's. "How about I take you out for." he squinted at the clock seeing it was after noon, "lunch?"  
  
The Irishman yawned and nodded, his arms sliding from around the German's thin body, careful not to bang against the tender hip. He had grown used to waking up here, Crawford had lost the battle with Schuldich that he could deal with Farfarello on his own and didn't have to lock him up. Crawford said whatever as long as the German kept the psycho in his room and not anywhere else.  
  
Like Schuldich cared if he had to keep Farfarello in his room. In a way Crawford had won in the fact he was still keeping Farfarello under a close eye and Schuldich had won by getting Farf out of that damn padded cell.  
  
Schu sat up, wincing at the sharp pain shooting up his back and then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He felt the bed shift behind him as Farfarello slid off the side and stood, stretching out his thin body. His flannel pajama pants dipped low on his waist, letting Schu look over the fine lines of his friend's body.  
  
Farfarello really was beautiful. Schuldich sighed mentally, standing up and testing his hip for balance. He stretched and flexed his leg, getting the kinks out of the raw joint that was already protesting at him.  
  
He spared a glance at the Irishman, who was rummaging through the closet that they shared. Schu couldn't help but smile and then turn to the dresser pulling out an oversized army green t-shirt. He slammed the drawer closed and turned to go get his pants out of the closet.  
  
Farfarello was pulling on a tight black tank top, his black cargo pants hanging loosely off his slim waist. The studded, punkish belt glinted in the blind-filtered sunlight. He moved away from the closet to sit on the bed, putting on his heavy knee-high combat boots.  
  
He sighed looking up from his boots to view Schuldich, that thin body felt so good around his. He never thought anything could cloud his mind as much as his need to hurt God and now he had two important things on his mind all the time. God and Schuldich.  
  
The German tugged on a pair of ratty jeans, tears in the knees and the bottoms fringing. Stuffing his feet in a pair of worn out tennis shoes he turned to give Farfarello a smile before stuffing his wallet in his back pocket.  
  
"Ready Frauline?" he smirked, offering his arm to Farfarello who just rolled his eyes and walked out of the bedroom on his own.  
  
Schuldich peeked his head into Nagi's room for a moment, the dark haired boy was typing away at his computer.  
  
"Heya short stuff, we're going out. Did Brad leave?" he questioned, leaning in the doorway.  
  
"Yeah, business trip or something. See you guys later then," this all said softly and monotone, never looking up from his computer screen to regard the redhead in the doorway.  
  
"You want us to bring you something back?" Schuldich turned and added before leaving. Feeling a bit sorry for the kid, he seemed to be so alone all the time.  
  
"No thanks, Schu," Nagi actually turned to regard him with those midnight blue eyes, he gave Sculdich a slight smile and went back to whatever it was he was doing.  
  
He walked down the hallway and into the kitchen finding Farfarello fiddling with a kitchen knife. The Irishman seemed to be content looking the silver finish over in the soft light seeping in through the blinds. Schuldich waved catching Farfarello's attention and smirked at the white-haired madman's innocent look. He slid the knife into one of the large pockets on his pants and walked over to Schu, smiling slightly.  
  
"Ready?" Schuldich held Farfarello's long black overcoat out for him. The coat had the arms tailored off and two long rows of antique silver buttons down the front, the neckline dipping low and the hem brushing the ground. The Irishman slipped his arms in and buttoned the coat up, slipping on the fingerless gloves that were in the pockets.  
  
He held the door open for Schu, as the German threw on his great grandfathers old World War two army coat, the nazi signs and other details long since removed, the bottom of the dark green wool brushed the backs of Schuldich's knees, forming to his slim, bordering effeminate, body.  
  
They walked out of the apartment and into the warm air of Japan, the reek of auto exhaust invading their lungs. Schu resisted the urge to light up a cigarette and shook his head.  
  
******  
  
They sat in the far corner booth in a cheap downtown Chinese restaurant called the Lucky Dragon. Schu played with the wooden chopsticks, absently picking at his napkin, Farfarello watched with slight amusement. The silence wore on for a few moments, Farfarello content just watching the red head pick the blue paper napkin to shreds, leaving the pickings strewn across the brilliant red place mat.  
  
The madman cleared his throat, his eye sliding up to meet Schu's curious poison green gaze.  
  
"Soo, Schu.Would this be considered our first date?" the Irishman raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly.  
  
Schuldich looked up from the napkin with a surprised look on his face, which he quickly wiped off his features. "Um.yes."  
  
"You don't sound too sure of yourself," Farfarello tilted his head slightly, reaching his leg out under the table until their feet rubbed together. The heavy steel-toed boot slid against the worn tennis shoe and Schuldich felt a chill shiver up his spine.  
  
"Yeah. I think it is," the German put down his chopsticks and smiled.  
  
There was a long moment where they just stared vacantly at each other, amber and emerald glittering like the precious gems they resembled. Farfarello reached his hand across the table, flexing it, reaching it towards the German. Schuldich took the hand, feeling the cool skin and the rough texture of the black glove.  
  
Farfarello laid his head on his own arm, tilting his visage to the side so he could better view the German. He looked so innocent staring up at Schuldich with that sweet amber gaze.  
  
"I love you," Farfarello whispered, gripping Schuldich's hand harder as if trying to hang on in case the German pulled away in disgust.  
  
But Schu smiled, the grin reaching his eyes and making them sparkle with happiness. "I love you too Farfie. We waited way to long.."  
  
Farfarello yanked the German across the table cutting off his words, sprawling the lanky redhead over the distance between them and claimed his mouth. Neither seemed to give a damn about the other occupants of the restaurant as they shared a passionate kiss that seemed to burn through them and seethe their souls together.  
  
They broke apart as their waitress appeared warily, looking at them with an odd expression on her face. Schu just grinned disarmingly and Farfarello played with his chopsticks smirking.  
  
She set the food down and scurried off into the kitchen.  
  
"I think we scared her," Farfarello mused, looking after her and then at his bowl of wonton soup, poking at one of the stuffed noodles.  
  
"Crawford is going to flip," Schuldich grinned and shoved a chopstick full of rice into his mouth. He scowled at the rice for a moment then dumped soy sauce on it and mirrored his previous action, nodding in approval this time.  
  
Farfarello sipped his soup from the flat, glass, traditional spoon. He sighed, smiling and savoring the moment, sliding his hand, palm up, across the table. Schu smiled and laid his hand in the Irishman's. And so began their time together as a pair instead of two individuals in denial. 


End file.
